My family
by Emily Meminger
Summary: A new perspective of the Steiner parents in Rosanna's words. Find their personalities as parents through the most memorible moments shared by their daughter.


**A note through her eyes**

**Unlike my other stories of Liesel and Rudy's children where there were two twin boys, a girl and their little brother, I've decided to try it this way. Twins Rosanna (Rosa) and Alex, then their little brother Hanson. We'll see how this goes, and I'll change my other stories later if you prefer this, I think it works better.**

_A note from Rosanna_

_My mother_

My mother was always there with a smile to say "You're not alone." And it made me feel protected and loved. She makes every day in the history of our lives special, even on the darkest days. My father taught her to do that, bring back the energy. It's energy in you that changes your mood, which your mood changes your day completely.

She is strong and can keep her emotions well hidden when you don't take notice of them. She has a beautiful laugh and dark brown eyes that stand out from her German brand of hair. Her gold curl reach down a few inches below her shoulders perfectly, as if they'd had been attended to for hours.

All the silly mistakes you'd make would make you laugh with her rather than tease her and her tell you to shut up.

She had a few sayings she'd bring up often as a reminder in life. "Other things may change us, but we start and end with family."

She'd tell us stories, which is how we were taught our manners and lessons. She made me and my brothers eager to be just like Jesse who continued his dream and ignore what other people thought. For Nelson who fought for freedom and peace.

She'd use her stubbornness as a power to convince us to do things that we couldn't even imagine doing on our own.  
"I bet you can't even make it to the end of the driveway without training wheels!" She said. That would make the blood boil in my veins enough that I wanted to prove her wrong and _I did_. I forgot all about the anger and got excited for the achievement I'd made.

Whenever she set us to a task and we'd ask why, rather than saying "Because I told you to." She'd tell us the reason. But just because she told us why, it didn't mean we got to get away with not doing it. Of course we still had to do as we were told.

She's like an eagle, with the way they can rotate their heads backward. Her dangerous eyes that show she isn't afraid to put up a fight.

She is a mother keen to embarrass us. "Sing out loud in the car even, or especially, if it embarrasses your children." She'd kiss us in front of everyone on the first day of school and sing songs when a school crush was brought up. I suppose that's where I get it from, as Alex and I always tease Avia, Max's daughter. "_Caesar I love you, Caesar I do! When we're apart my heart beats hoping for you!"_

As all siblings do, we get into fights. Eventually you realise how silly our arguments can be about, but best not go into that. I'm sure you know the idea anyway, even if you don't have siblings yourself or someone else to grow up with. These problems appear sometime in your life, even if it's with your parents.

Our mother never spanks us, but she has a way of letting us know when we'd displeased her, usually with a disappointed look or the way she didn't make much contact with us. The smallest of things she'd do, we take notice of. She's almost not herself when she's upset about something. We don't much like that feeling, so for the most part, we try our best to be good.

She'd occasionally yell when she was tired of hearing us all talking at once, protesting when we didn't want to follow her final word. She'd send us to our room when we'd disobey her or sneak sweets before dinner.

When we'd bicker, she'd put us in an over-sized shirt together, labelled_ 'Our get along shirt.' _And we weren't to take it off until we apologized and kept quiet of the argument.

There weren't many occasions that she'd have to sit with us and talk about what we did, as that's what the shirt was for. I remember a few of those times I'd been in the shirt, and I still remember how stupid the argument I'd had was.

Her punishments she'd give aren't the only things that I distinguish from other families, but also how they do things.

When I'd say to my mother, "That's not what a normal mother would do." And she would say, "And what would you call a normal mother? There is no way to be a perfect mother, but a million ways to be a good one."

I have misty-edged memories of the way she sat, always in skirts, one leg crossed over the other, her caramel blonde hair pulled back in an elegant chignon. My mother could not get me into a dress, interested in makeup or sitting like a lady, but she insisted that I keep my hair long. My mother loves playing with my hair. My papa often jokes that if I really wanted to have my hair cut short, he would still love me; but only less. I rebelled by putting my hair back in a ponytail and cramming a football cap on top of my head.

The occasion that she has gotten me in a dress, I'd ruin it by getting it dirty wrestling with my brothers on the grass. I'd come back inside looking like a boy wearing the wrong clothes and inattentive haircut.

I like watching how she does things, watching closely to the way she would carefully paint lipstick on her lips and spray just the right amount of perfume on her wrists. I remember her leaning in close to my father and whispering in his ear, making him smile, the way she could calm him with just a word and a touch of her hand.

I'd come to notice things she'd do when she had a feeling. Itchy fingers to steal – I mean, borrow. Bright smiles of many kinds, one for when she's proud, one for wonder, one for when she's surprised.

For the most part I loved how she taught us German, not ever wanting us to forget her get away of swearing. At least my parents couldn't blame us for us swearing in German, as they're the only people we know to have gotten them from, being in an English-speaking country and all.

I've had several occasions when I'd be sent home from school with a bloody nose, a banged head, a sprained ankle – a whole variety of injuries! And my mother would come into the office and try not to laugh at the reason of the said injury. For example I got sent home once with a bloody nose for _walking in front of a cricket bat _(pretty much a wooden baseball bat that is rectangular rather than round)_. _They really made me sound like an idiot there.

We'd take walks in the city quite often on the weekends to spend some mother-daughter time without my obnoxious brothers and childish father. We'd buy ice cream and sit under the trees in the botanical gardens where I'd draw on my pad while my mother took in inspiration for her next book.

Being an author she was out the house a lot mostly for inspiration. I'd go with her and do something independently as not to disturb her while she wrote. She always carried a notebook with her to keep ideas before she forgot them. When I was younger I'd just assumed that she loved that notebook and was one of the closest things to her. That might be so as she wanted to treasure the thought or memory, but I learnt that if you can't do anything about something, there's no point mourning over it.

Her notebook once was dropped in a duck pond, smudging the ink dripping the book in splotches of black and blue. I cried for a while until my mother returned and saw me clutching what looked like Tom Riddle's diary. I could tell she was disappointed, but she told me, "If you know there's nothing you could do to fix it, you don't continue trying to find a way. You go find something else." That's the main part of it. "I might forget those ideas, but I can by a new book and find new ideas."

She'd learnt that herself from her own experience. A time she had the wrong date all along for a holiday she'd booked. We missed out on going to Disneyland so rather than complaining we missed out, we found something else to do.

The whole family would go out to different parks and we'd have a game of fußball. We'd play Boys vs. Girls, and I'd laugh when mama and papa would tease each other as they fought over the ball, just as if they were children. Mama would even jump on papa's back to give me an advantage to steal the ball off him.

When nightmares came she'd sing to me until I'd fall asleep, and I'd wake up in her bed with our foreheads touching. When thunder and lightning struck, she wouldn't hold us. She found we needed to find our own protection in case one day she wasn't there for our comfort. She would find us distractions and talk to us about different things as you normally would, as if nothing had changed.

By the stories of Jesse and Nelson, we learnt to not worry about the bullies that teased us for our differences. Even when it hurt, I did my best to continue what I was doing and to not copy them to fit in. It took me years to fit in, but that came when I didn't change. I found myself and I found that after nearly two years of copying the other girls that got me nowhere. I still had a low number of friends until I just didn't bother and stayed as me. That's how I gained friends and now I know people as my friend rather than the names written on notes in the principals' office.

Of all the comparisons you can make, I've found my parents very different from others. It's not a bad thing to be different and it shouldn't matter. You don't have to let someone else's judgements take over you and don't let it affect you.

My mother is wonderful; she made stories life lessons and is benevolent, willing to be by my side all the time. She is smart and continues to make me happy each day.

_A mother understands what a child does not say._ _God could not be everywhere and therefore he made mothers. – Jewish proverb_

**Again this is a One-Shot, but if you are going to beg for another chapter, I'm planning on writing one about their father, Rudy.**


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